100 Million End of School Events

I do not think our old elementary had so many activities all crammed into the month of May! 

Or perhaps they did. 

And I just didn't go because ... too many babies. 

I know I did cart toddlers and babies to many things. (I remember ... because it was always so darned tricky.) 

And it's also true there were many things I did not go to simply because it would have caused too much disruption. 

But I do not recall there being something I was invited to ... multiple times a week the last month of school! 

In any case, I present you with a billion events from the last of school. 

(I forgot to take pictures of Summer and Mette's spring recital. And we are missing the Civil War Reenactment. [It got cancelled due to rain. Which was a great sorrow to Mette as she was the one who was going to get to recite The Gettysburg Address.] And even with everything pictured below, I still missed going to some things. [I did not volunteer to help at Field Day for example.])

Summer's fieldtrip to the Loveland Aquarium. I didn't actually attend this. Some of her friends' parents just texted me pictures.

For Mette's final SEM event (I can never recall what SEM stands for) they did a debate tournament against other schools. She was paired with her good friend Annabelle. It was fun to watch (as I'd never actually attended a debate event in my life believe it or not). 

All the SEM kids from her school.

Her two best friends.

Hans had the third-grade science fair. I love that they do it in third rather than in sixth at this elementary. The expectations were just much higher and far more demanding when I did it with my older five kids as sixth graders.

Mette received one of the Great American Awards. (I wrote about this in the fall. The fifth graders had the entire year to memorize all sorts of things--The Gettysburg Address, the Preamble, all the presidents, the state capitals, etc. to earn this award. There were about 10 things. And Mette earned it within about two months.)

Also, the 40-book challenge award where they had to read all sorts of genres. (Mette loves a good challenge.)

Summer and her friend Mary Jane at the World Fair.

This dear "All About Me" page from Starling. I love "reselling" (wrestling) and "free" years old.

Summer's orchestra concert with all the other schools.

We spotted her! In purple with a blonde bun.

Daisy was had a little over a month between graduating and starting her official job, so she was around to support her siblings at so many of these things. 

The Wellsville Mile. It's such a fun event. I talked to one woman there who had been seen her children all run it and was now watching her grandchildren run it. 

At the end-of-year assembly when Mette got the award for the AR reading points in the whole school. (Hans in a Harry Potter scarf. The third grade breaks into Harry Potter houses the last several weeks of school for science experiments, quidditch tournaments, etc.)

6th grade is moving up to the middle school next year. I love elementary school and feel sad Mette won't get another year there. On the other hand, she and Summer will get to start middle school together now. 

We came on the last day to "clap out" the graduating 5th and 6th graders. It was cute. Everyone lining the halls to give them high-fives and clap and cheer as they all paraded past us and out the doors.

Two little girls all ready for middle school? (Ridiculous.)

All four of my elementary kids on the last day.

Some of the clap out. (I was filming. And Summer went by so quickly I didn't catch a picture!)

Whew! And that was a lot of events. We are ready for summer and a slower pace for a while!

48 Hours of Late May Stuff on the Farm

Wednesday, I planted two dozen flowers (where more than two dozen of my flowers have died) then sowed zinnia seeds (where my last ones never germinated) and black-eyed susan and daisy seeds (where my hollyhocks failed to sprout). (That last one is particularly sad, as those seeds were a parting gift from a sweet, elderly woman in Young Ward whose hollyhocks I'd often praised.)

I planted in hope of course, just like I did several weeks ago, but a hope that now drifted sadly and repeatedly towards a vague wondering what exactly others seem to know and do that allows all they plant to thrive and why I must forever exist outside of that knowledge.

After planting, I headed over by the barn and discovered that Mike had thoughtfully hooked a long hose up for me before leaving for work. (I'd asked him, earlier that morning, if there was one over there anywhere. He'd told me where to look, but must have decided, before heading off, to find and attach it for me himself. Bless him.) 

I tromped through tall weeds and grass to each of the four apple trees we'd planted last year, the evergreen from our last Christmas at the rental (still in its tub and looking like it might not survive its needed planting), and the raspberries that could scarcely be seen at all and gave them all a good watering. (Not a speedy process due to the low water pressure over there.)

Then I made my way over a stack of railroad ties near the cow trough to search through grass, weeds and rolled up barbed wire for fence posts to mark the nearly hidden spots where each of our surviving linden seedlings (planted last fall) are trying to grow.

I trudged four posts over to the strip of lindens--wondering, before I'd made it halfway to them and as the posts felt increasingly heavy in my arms, how I would manage three more trips. But then Daisy came out and started up the 4-wheeler. We piled the remaining posts across her lap and she drove them over. 

I made my way slowly through all the green growth searching carefully for trees to place posts by. Daisy followed behind--pounding the posts in with the post driver. (I took my turn for a spell, but Daisy was horrified--on her father's behalf--by how tall I left them and insisted on driving my posts in further.) While she continued that grueling task, I hauled a five-gallon bucket of water to each and every tree.

Mike arrived home around 7:00, and I followed him into the back field to watch how we are to go about shutting canal gates and setting tarps to flood irrigate. We stood together--as the wind blew through all the overgrown greenness that is currently everywhere--and watched where the water ran, then tromped over to the house--hmming and calculating--and deciding that probably the water wouldn't reach above the porch. Still, to be sure, Mike left lights on out back and set an alarm for 3:00 am to check on things. 

The next morning, early, the neighbor who at times rents the pasture to run his herd, came over and told Mike of another spot he liked to set a metal gate to send the water towards the further reaches of the field. Mike pointed the shining metal out to me through the big window so I would know where to go and lift it back out if things ran too close to the house while he was at work. And we watched as Holly and Rosie curiously stepped through wet pasture and reached their muzzles in to drink from new watering spots. 

My day was full of errands and kids, so I only glanced out to make sure nothing was reaching the house, but when Mike got home, we realized all the rising pasture water was completely gone. Someone must have switched a gate and cut our turn short. (And with a raised eyebrow and an odd little thrill [the same type of thrill that makes me want to hear any drama Mike might have to share from the waterboard meeting ... while still not wanting to actually be at the waterboard meeting] I wondered if we had entered into water sharing politics!) (We texted the water master. No response. More interesting still! :))

Today I decided that my linden-marking posts blended in a bit more than I'd hoped with the fence and posts just behind them, so Mike helped me search the barn for cans of paint before he left for work, and I spray-painted the tops white--and when, looking at them, I still doubted whether the kids would see them all once I start sending them with buckets of water this summer, I gave Jesse a can of red spray paint and told him to add stripes. In the end, I also numbered them (hoping to assign tree watering by numbers so none get missed).

Can you see the tiny linden to the left of the post? Luckily it should only take 20 to 50 years for it to reach maturity. I guess I'm watering them for my grandkids. :( The willows grow faster though. And I think I can move some of the cottonwood saplings growing near the big ones already here on the farm. Those are fast growing. And we've got our Christmas tree to plant. And, despite being told they won't do well, I still want to try a maple somewhere--mostly for its fall leaves. Aspens would be fun too. But ... how to water everything? I already fear we will weary of the bucket hauling to the lindens along the driveway all summer.

Jesse striping my posts like candy canes. They do stand out more now. We will have no excuse to miss carrying buckets to a single tree! (And won't it be nice to eventually just see trees--rather than houses--here? In ... 50 years. [Cross fingers for 20 everyone!])

A tiny cairn I made on the driveway across from a linden Mike found that I'd missed (so I would remember where to take a post the next day).

We planted about 20 lindens last year. (Maybe a few were willows? Whatever we got for practically nothing at the Bear River bare-root tree sale). I think I currently have 16 accounted for. Well, 19, I guess, I found 3 that appear to be dead. Maybe there's one more out there. Fingers crossed. 

Anyway, I'm liking these farm tasks. I even cleared weeds and grass and made a spot for pumpkins just outside the big window (since the pumpkin hill from last year is covered in weeds about five feet high), however, I've watched the spot throughout the day. It gets almost no sun to speak of, so my work there might have been for naught. 

We shall see. 

Lots of experimenting going on these days. (Remember all the sunflowers I planted last year? Why didn't those take? Is it ... do I ... have a black thumb? Despite all my willingness and industry?)

Well, as I've said before, I'm glad I'm not planting things in order to survive the winter--or we would be in a sad state, I fear. (Not only because nothing I plant will grow but also because I'm planting primarily ... flowers. Even grown they aren't too filling. ;)) We need Mike around more. Things he plants seem to grow. I guess because he just ... knows they will. 

Mother's Day, "What Could I Have Done More for My Vineyard?", and an Announcement

Mike gave me this fun ring watch for Mother's Day. Isn't it delightful?

But perhaps even more generous of him: He gave me hours of labor. (And of making the kids labor.)

Between time constraints and the eighty million projects needing our attention, I had resigned myself to the probability that I wouldn't be able to have flower beds this year. 

 

But then Mike and the kids spent the better portion of two Saturdays taking rocks from the beds, shoveling the tractor-scoop fulls of soil and compost that Mike kept driving over from by the barn, hurling rocks out of those piles, and spreading soil out. 

Mike came with me to choose out a million flowers for my annual flower bed by the front porch. Cosmos and Zinnias, lantanas and dahlias, marigolds and snapdragons. 

And a few days later I found black-eyed susan, coneflower and poppy starts for my perennial garden by the garage. 

Since then, many of my green, lovely, leafy starts have been wilting and dying. (Weep.) Was it "transplant shock"? Was I overwatering? Was I underwatering? Was there too much manure in all the loads we mixed in from the farm? I'd researched full-sun plants and chosen varieties I knew were hardy (knowing how hot west facing areas can get in our summers here). I'd bought worm castings and carefully added them to each and every hole to soften the transition for my little plants. 

By Sunday night--when freezing temperatures had crept into our forecast and Mike and Jesse had helped me haul buckets and rocks and posts and tarps to put over every already-struggling plant, I was thinking sadly to myself, "And it came to pass that the Lord of the vineyard wept, and said ... What more could I have done for my vineyard?"

Not enough dunging, Mike teased.

Perhaps I ought to have tried grafting, Abe suggested.

Who knows, but our two nights of freezing are past, and we shall see what remains to thrive. I suppose nobody ever became a master gardener in a day. :(

Above are some gardening-weary kids at Costco where we fed them all pizza and hotdogs. Below we have Daisy pulling the truck from its stuck location in the pig pasture.

But! There was more to Mother's Day than ring watches and hours of potentially fruitless gardening! Daisy and Mette made a delicious dinner (and Daisy made eclairs!--those and lemon pie are probably my two favorite desserts [odd for someone who generally wants pure chocolate base to everything]). And we drove it all down to my mom's for a Mother's Day dinner at Polk's End!

That was a happy way to spend Mother's Day!

And, because a Mother's Day post seems as fitting a place as any for this type of news: After decades (literally decades) of announcing my own pregnancies, we have entered a new stage of life. 

Now I am announcing a daughter's pregnancy! 

Goldie and Wyatt are expecting a baby boy this September. 

As I unpacked things in the new house and wondered if I really still needed toys in the kitchen pantry and board books on the bookshelf, it was fun to think, "Well, of course I do. Just as my kids are beginning to outgrow some of these things, grandkids are coming along to take their use up again.")

And to end, a lovely mother's hairstyle (compliments of Starling).